


A Very Covid Christmas

by ChiaraRose



Series: Ten Acres School [3]
Category: The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaraRose/pseuds/ChiaraRose
Summary: This is the same world as "Trixie in the Time of Covid-19," but some months later, as everyone glumly faces a very different holiday season than usual, especially with Honey and Brian even more isolated, as Brian recovers from Covid-19. It was written for the Jixemitri Circle Writing Event 22, where we were challenged to send a Bob-White villain on a holiday. Bull Thompson of Mysterious Code gets a holiday--several, in fact.
Relationships: Brian Belden/Honey Wheeler, Mart Belden/Diana "Di" Lynch, Trixie Belden/Jim Frayne
Series: Ten Acres School [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134956
Kudos: 3





	A Very Covid Christmas

“Mommy, it is time to sing,” announced Julie-Kat just as her younger brother Win fell face first into the bowl of flour and spices that was intended to make gingerbread for the entire Ten Acres School. 

Trixie Belden Frayne turned from mixing the wet ingredients to grab her baby son, and in her haste, bumped the mixer, sending gobs of goo flying around the kitchen.

The phone rang, of course.

“Julie-Kat, can you see who’s calling?” Trixie struggled to keep Christmas cheer in her voice as she wiped Win, arms and legs flailing, spreading more joy and flour. She blinked her eyes at hummingbird speed, trying to see through a goopy eye. She couldn’t, and consequently she stepped on the cat’s tail as she reached for another dishtowel, paper towel, anything.

Her kindergarten-age daughter tapped the cell phone and said in her most sophisticated voice over the cat yowling and baby screaming, “Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency. Juliana-Katje Frayne speaking. Mommy, it’s Aunt Honey.”

Trixie heaved a mountain-sized sigh of relief. With the day’s luck so far, she wouldn’t have been surprised if there were actually a client on the line. “Please tell her I’ll call her back in five minutes. Make it ten,” she added, as the aroma of dirty diaper joined the melange of spices.

With Win cleaned and Julie-Kat on her way to choir rehearsal with the rest of the school (because she believed she could attend any activity she wanted at her Daddy’s school, and she was mostly right), Trixie called her sister-in-law, business partner, and best friend. “What’s up, Honey?”

“You sound busy.”

“How can I not be busy, with the school at half-staff, the kids’ school and day care canceled, trying to acquire supplies that don’t exist for the hospital, and Jim going nuts trying to give everyone a perfect Christmas, because,” she deepened her voice to imitate her husband, “‘their families, their schools, and the system let them down, so I will not.’” Trixie winced. She shouldn’t be talking about Christmas when Honey and Brian were going to miss that holiday too, in addition to rest of the 2020 holidays, birthdays, and celebrations. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you. How’s Brian?”

Trixie’s doctor-brother Brian had Covid-19. He and his wife Honey, a nurse, worked in Sleepyside Hospital from the beginning of the pandemic. Until he was diagnosed, they lived in the medical dorm (formerly Sleepyside Inn) with their children staying with their Belden grandparents, who, along with their son Mart’s family, moved in with the Lynches. After all, the pandemic wasn’t supposed to last more than a month or two. 

But now Honey now cared for Brian in his parents’ home in Sleepyside. Peter and Helen moved into town with their youngest son Bobby after they turned Crabapple Farm over to their son Mart and his new bride Diana some years ago. Fortunately all the non-medical adults could work remotely: Peter Belden at the bank, Ed Lynch at his firm, Mart doing IT work, Diana and Trixie procuring supplies for Sleepyside Hospital (Di at Lynch House, and Trixie at Ten Acres, where her husband Jim Frayne ran a school for troubled boys).

Trixie realized that Honey hadn’t answered. Did Honey have bad news? Her throat tightened, and her voice squeaked. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Honey sniffled. “Probably nothing. This horrible disease goes back and forth. One day he feels like he could go ice skating; the next day he can hardly get out of bed.”

“That’s today?” Trixie could hardly swallow over the lump in her throat.

“In the middle, I think. Yesterday was a skating day. Today he got up okay but went to lie down after breakfast.”

“He doesn’t actually go skating!”

“Not yet. He wants to get stronger first. So we take long brisk walks, and he works with weights. The doctor says he should exercise as much as possible. Even on his worst days, he does get out of bed and walk, one very slow step after another, over and over, down the hall, around the living room, and back down the hall, all day long until—” Honey’s voice broke. She took a deep breath. “Anyway, I was hoping you weren’t busy. But it doesn’t sound that way.”

Trixie wanted to hear more about her brother, but she followed Honey’s lead. “I was making gingerbread, just got the dry ingredients combined. I turned my back for ten seconds to get butter out of the fridge, and Win crawled up on the table and dived into the flour.”

Honey gave a watery chuckle. “That’s how they are at that age. Well, Mallie hasn’t outgrown it yet! Every week I hear some new adventure from the Lynch house. Thank goodness Andy is quieter! I’m still so sad he couldn’t go to school this year. I know you are too, for Julie-Kat.” 

“I don’t know, Honey,” said Trixie. “I think Julie-Kat’s going to be ready for college entrance exams. She was all ready to go to school in September, and when the schools couldn’t open, she decided to go to her daddy’s school instead. She walks into any class she likes, and the students love it, because no matter how far behind they are, they’re usually further ahead than a five-year-old. And she asks the teachers all the questions the boys are too embarrassed to ask. Jim and I have told the teachers to put her out if she’s a disturbance, but they say she isn’t, that everybody learns more when she’s there. Miss Trask holds Montessori-type class for the Lynch House kids three mornings week, assisted by Jim’s older students, and Julie-Kat usually drags Andy along to bomb one of the school classes after that. I really don’t think they’d get a better education in Sleepyside Elementary. Our kids are the luckiest in Sleepyside.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Miss Trask did say she’s making sure Julie and Andy finish the kindergarten curriculum.” Honey took another breath, chasing away the blues over children she hadn’t hugged in ten months. “Gingerbread! Everyone must be getting ready for Miss Trask’s lessons in math, architecture, and structural engineering on gingerbread houses. I miss being part of it. Brian always loved how the house smelled after gingerbread-baking days.” Finally she broke into tears. 

“His sense of smell hasn’t come back yet?” Trixie asked, gentle and quiet, not sure if Honey could hear her.

Honey snorted and regained control. “No. But the doctor says—Oh, bother the doctor. He doesn’t know any more than anybody else. Trixie, I wanted to ask if you could pick up some prescriptions for me. Sleepyside Pharmacy can’t deliver for three days, and it’s Hanukkah, so my helper can’t go get them.”

Trixie frowned as she mentally counted the number of nights she’d already celebrated Hanukkah with the Jewish students at Jim’s school. She didn’t mention it, but instead said, “Well, sure. Okay if I leave in an hour, after Julie-Kat’s choir rehearsal? And after I scrape the batter off all the surfaces in the kitchen, including the ceiling? I’d like to take the kids with me rather than foist them on Jim. We’ll just be talking by the back door, right? Shall I stop by the Lynches and pick up your kids?”

Honey gave a little gasp. “Not today, I think. Let’s do it on a day Brian feels better, and when it’s not so cold. And sure, an hour later is fine.” She hung up after a quick good-bye.

Trixie frowned as she finished mixing the batter and spreading it in pans. While it baked, she wiped down the kitchen and wondered what was going on with her best friend and brother.

#

It seemed like it took less time to clean the kitchen and bake a batch of gingerbread than it did to stuff two children into their snowsuits, maybe because she was so anxious to see Honey again. Zoom meetings were not the same, and Honey was always so tired she could scarcely stay awake to listen, much less talk.

“I didn’t know how lucky I was to have only Bobby to dress when I was younger,” muttered Trixie as she grabbed for Win’s waving arm.

Julie-Kat sang as they drove into Sleepyside, “‘Il est né le divin enfant. Jouez hautbois, résonnez musette.’ That’s a really nice song, Mommy, because of the hautbois. Madame says it means hobo. That’s a homeless person, and jouez means play, so it’s a song about homeless people getting to play.”

“Uh huh,” said Trixie, feeling that something got lost in translation, but it was beyond her to unravel, even as a master translator of Honey-speak. 

Julie-Kat was still singing when they trouped around to the back of Honey’s temporary home, which had large glass sliding doors looking out on an unsheltered porch. 

“Let me guess,” said Honey, leaning on the inside doorsill. “Jim’s putting on ‘Holidays Around the World’ again.”

Trixie nodded over Win’s head as she cuddled him close. “Jim wants the students to do everything they’ve done previous years. But, Honey, what’s the chorus? You know French.”

“‘He is born, the divine child. Let oboes play and bagpipes sound.’”

“Oh, oboes. Julie-Kat thinks it’s hoboes.” Trixie shook her head. “Not sure I’d want to hear oboes and bagpipes.”

Honey chuckled, close to tears, with the bleak look she always had for Christmas discussions. “I don’t blame you. Send us a link for the concert. All these virtual events are a blessing, even if they’re not the same. I suppose we can have a watch party for Andy and Mallie to see Jim’s holiday village on screen this year. They’ve always loved walking around it. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful to do something away from screens!” She sniffled her way back in control. “You can leave the prescriptions in the dropbox by the front door.”

Trixie was spared answering by a man shuffling through the snow into the back yard. She felt a jolt of recognition, though she hadn’t seen him in over ten years, right before he was sent to reform school for stealing donations to the Bob-White antique show. She wanted to run to a mirror to see if she had aged as much. Bull Thompson was still large and tall, only a few years older than she, but everything about him sagged, from face to shoulders to belly. A dirty paper mask hung around his neck.

“Mask up,” snapped Trixie. “Over your nose.” She backed up towards her daughter.

He scowled as he adjusted his mask. “Hullo, Mrs. Belden. I came for my pay.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, Bull,” said Honey. “You said you couldn’t work because it’s Hanukkah.”

“Yes, ma’am. Eight days. I can’t work, but I can get paid. Today’s payday, like we agreed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, so I didn’t arrange to get cash. Let me see how much I have.” Honey reached for her purse. Her eyebrows met in irritation as she rummaged through her purse, the size of a small suitcase.

“I’ve got cash,” said Trixie. “I can probably make up the difference.”

Bull scowled at Julie-Kat, who moved on to “En Belén están de fiesta, fum, fum, fum,” as she whacked the ground with a branch for “fum, fum, fum.” Win joined in for the chorus, waving his arms in time.

“What’s she singing?” asked Bull, still scowling.

“A Spanish Christmas carol,” answered Trixie. “Can you back up so I can get the money? Julie-Kat, why don’t you sing ‘Ma’oz Tzur’?”

Julie-Kat sang her new song, as bombastic as any national anthem, and marched in circles around the small back yard. “Ma'oz tzur yeshu'ati, lekha na'eh leshabe'ah.” Win kicked in rhythm. Trixie struggled not to drop him.

“Plenty of American carols she could sing,” muttered Bull as Honey handed Trixie a handful of bills and told her how much to add. Trixie felt inside her purse with one hand.

“Bull, I’ll need you next Monday,” said Honey.

Bull looked down and shuffled his feet. “Well, Mrs. Belden, that’s Solstice, and I always observe it to honor my sainted grandmother.” 

Trixie wanted to ask why he called a pagan grandmother “sainted,” but instead she jumped in with, “I can do whatever you need, Honey. I’ll have to check my calendar, but if I can’t, I’ll get someone else in the family.”

Honey rubbed her forehead and nodded. 

Trixie put the money in a nearby concrete flower urn and stepped back to join her daughter. Bull snatched the bills and stomped away, with one more look of disgust at Trixie and her children.

“Darn!” said Trixie in a louder voice. “Honey, your mother gave me some jewelry to bring you, and I left it at home. I’ll come back by today and leave it in your car.”

Honey looked puzzled. “I can’t imagine what it is—or why I need it. And you could—”

“Heirlooms, maybe? Didn’t you have a great-aunt who died recently? That rich old lady in England.” 

Honey shook her head and shrugged. “I’m not going to worry about it.”

“…hanukat hamizbe'ah,” finished Julie-Kat.

Trixie sighed with relief as Win went still. She waited until she heard Bull’s car reluctantly crank to life before she said, “Honey, Bull’s no more Jewish than I am, if he doesn’t recognize that song, and Hanukkah isn’t a stay-at-home holiday any way. And his needing to celebrate Solstice is pretty thin. Can’t you get anyone else? He started life as a thief, and he’s still a liar. Have you checked the grocery store receipts?”

Honey cried, “No, I can’t, and no, I haven’t. No one wants to work for a Covid patient. He said he’s turned his life around, got married, had a baby, joined a church, and everything. I just can’t deal with—” She waved one hand at the world, the other hand pressed against her forehead, as though it ached.

“He didn’t join a synagogue? Never mind, Honey. You know your family and Bob-Whites would do anything for you and Brian. At least let me check the receipts.”

Her head drooped, but not because she was searching in her purse. “Whenever I was sick, my parents always hired the finest caretakers.”

“Bull isn’t the finest. And you have plenty of family and friends. Please call us when you need anything.” Trixie held out her hand for Julie-Kat, who ran over, kicking the snow. Sun sparkled through the flakes.

“Well, I promised to pay Bull for twenty hours a week, so I try to use him whenever he’ll work,” Honey said, gloomy. She inched the door open so that Trixie could take the flimsy receipts.

A dark shadow loomed behind Honey. Trixie gasped and ducked her head behind Win and his puffy snow suit. “Brian! So good to see you. How are you feeling?”

“Uncle Brian!” shouted Julie-Kat. She ran up to the sliding glass door and pounded on it. “I’m singing in the Christmas concert. Will you come hear me?”

Trixie shifted Win to pull her daughter away. Brian joked with the children for a minute before saying he needed to practice his voice lesson before lunch.

Trixie managed to smile until he dragged himself from the room. “Voice lesson?” 

“The doctor said he should exercise his lungs as much as possible,” said Honey in her medical voice. “He found a singing course online, and he practices with it every day.”

Trixie’s blue eyes opened wide. “Honey, I love my brother and I pray he gets well, but he can’t sing.”

Honey giggled, soft and weak. “No, but he tries to, and honestly, now that he works so hard, he can almost carry a tune, very staccato, because he can’t hold a note long at all.”

Trixie shook her head, almost a shiver. “Poor Honey.”

“It’s not so bad. He can’t sing loudly, but it’s loud enough that I can tell when he’s awake. I used to run in the bedroom a million times a day to make sure he was still breathing.”

Speechless, Trixie flattened her hand on the window, as though reaching for Honey’s hand to hold. Brian was so thin and frail, shocking to Trixie who had never known her brother as anything but athletic and strong. Now he looked like a toothpick, ready to snap in two. His cheeks were sunken and sallow, his eyes red.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me how sick he was?”

“He’s not,” said Honey, her voice brittle enough to shatter. “The bad-off ones are in the hospital on a ventilator. So far he’s not anywhere near that. And he had one dose of the vaccine, so his case isn’t very bad. I wish he could have gotten both doses, like I did!”

Not having a free hand, Trixie leaned her forehead against the glass. “I wish I could do more, Honey. Has Moms been here?” She had to look up to see Honey shake her head. 

“Brian calls her when he feels well enough to talk, but he told her and your dad not to come over, even to stand in the yard, while he might be contagious. Mostly he didn’t want them to see him so sick.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t. I don’t know. I don’t know how to handle any of this.”

“You just do what’s in front of you this minute,” said Honey, bleak and distant. “The best you can, for as long as you can.”

#

Relief flooded Jim’s face when Trixie walked through the front door of her home. “I’m glad you made it back in time for your class. I’ll take the kids.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” whispered Trixie, her voice full of cheer now that she had a puzzle to solve. Not many people consulted a detective during a pandemic, with everyone just trying to survive another day. She handed Win, fallen asleep in the car, to his father. “I didn’t have time to prepare but I’ve got a project for them. It still feels weird to be teaching math instead of flunking it.”

Jim lay his son across one broad shoulder. “That’s why you’re so good at it. Come along, Julie-Kat. Let’s put Brother down for a nap.”

“I am too old for naps,” announced Julie-Kat with suspicion.

“I’m not, but I won’t make you go to sleep too. Why don’t we lie down, and I’ll read your new book to you?”

“If you are tired, Daddy, I will read to you,” said Julie-Kat, magnanimous in victory.

Trixie waved over her shoulder as she trotted to her class, the youngest, furthest-behind math students. Before the pandemic, she had no official duties at the school, though she filled in as a chaperone or as a special speaker, but Dan Mangan used to teach this class, and his duties as a policeman made part-time teaching and house parent impossible. So he moved into town to room with fellow officer Spider Webster, and, like the other part-time teachers, didn’t come on campus for fear of bringing the virus there, though they taught virtually when that was possible. Most of the students remained—the pandemic was not the ideal time to reintroduce them to their families, even if they’d wanted to go—so the remaining teachers did extra, and Jim enrolled his family even more than they already were, once he was convinced that everyone at Lynch House and his parents at Manor House were isolating properly. Jim’s care paid off: none of his students or on-campus staff fell ill. But he and the remaining staff were strained, even though the older students took on more responsibilities, and everyone was more helpful, as though they realized they had only each other to depend on, rather like, Trixie thought, the Bob-Whites of the Glen, when she, her brothers, Honey, Jim, and Di were the only teenagers on Glen Road. 

So Trixie, always ready to do her part, found herself teaching remedial math.

“Today we’re going to work on a real-life problem called inventory,” she announced as she took her seat at the round table with the boys, aged twelve through fourteen. “I have grocery store receipts here, and we’re going to add up all the items on them.” She handed each of the five boys a receipt and kept one for herself. 

“Who has eggs? Everybody? Let’s go around and say how many dozen eggs on your receipt. I have two.”

“I have four,” said the boy next to her.

They wrote down everybody’s number and then added them. 

“For extra credit, you can multiply the number of cases by twelve to find out how many eggs this family bought since Thanksgiving.”

The number was in the hundreds. She was so startled that she checked their addition and multiplication while they went on to loaves of bread, and then multiplied that number by twenty-four to get the number of slices. Then they halved the number of slices to figure out the number of sandwiches. They decided to keep track of the other purchases to see if there were enough ingredients to go on that many sandwiches. All students at Jim’s school worked in the kitchen and knew exactly how many sandwiches they could make from any jar or package of sandwich filling.

“We could make egg salad,” said one boy. “Lots of egg salad.”

The others admitted he was right, after they added up the mayonnaise, onions, and other ingredients. They continued through the receipts, as Trixie grew thoughtful. 

She asked, “Does anybody have anything on their list that we haven’t added up?”

“Baby formula,” said one. “And diapers.”

Two others had those items also. 

The boys voted Jamahl as having the best handwriting, the one who should fill out the school pantry inventory form. He grinned, not used to being the best at anything. Trixie reflected that except for the baby items, the amount of food looked a lot like what the school might buy.

As Jamahl made his slow, careful entries, she asked the other boys to list meals they could make from the ingredients. She was impressed anew with the school’s life skills training when she saw entries like “Quiche Lorraine for entire campus dinner with leftovers for breakfast” and “Brunch for school fundraiser, omelets, waffles, French toast, bacon, sausage, and fruit.” One student wrote out menus for his cabin with the goal of not ordering or going out for groceries for a month. 

Then she dismissed the boys to their next activity—taking care of the animals: the farm animals, the shelter pets, and horses—all more interesting than math, Trixie agreed. Feeling that their food plans emphasized how much food had been purchased in the last three weeks, she snapped photos of them with Jamahl’s inventory and texted them to Honey.

Jim found her before she finished her texts. He poured a groggy Win into her arms. “Julie-Kat is helping with the shelter pets,” he said. “I’ll join them if you’ll take Win for a while.”

“Sure,” his wife replied. “Have you talked to Honey recently? Or Brian? Or gone to see them?”

“I talked to Honey a few days ago. She said things were fine, but she just had a couple of minutes to talk. She never does talk very long these days. Brian’s not up to talking much, and I haven’t been over there because they didn’t want anybody to come, said they were afraid of passing the virus, even with precautions.”

“She asked me to pick up medicine today, and neither one seemed to be doing well. She’s got Bull Thompson doing errands for her when they have an enormous family who would help.”

“Bull Thompson!” Conflicting emotions churned through Jim’s expression. “I can’t say I don’t believe in second chances, can I?”

“Or forty-second if it comes to that, not with the work you do,” said Trixie with a fond glance.

“But when my sister and her husband are in such a fragile state, I’d rather have some evidence of a reformed life first.”

“I didn’t see it. And take a look at what Bull bought supposedly for her and Brian since they’ve been quarantined.”

“Good grief! Is she running a food pantry?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think it’s consensual. Do you want to go on a date tonight? Mart says he’ll come watch over the school, and Moms would be glad to see the kids at Lynch House. It’s the Baby Bob-Whites’ turn to fix dinner. They’re making their specialty, nachos, also called shredded cheese on chips.”

#

“I guess I should have known,” said Jim as they polished off the last of their curbside Wimpy’s order and split a piece of Wimpy’s pie after downing burgers and fries, “that our first date in ten months would be a stakeout. I can’t say I don’t know you.” He leaned over and planted a greasy kiss on her forehead. “Merry Christmas.”

“Mm,” said Trixie as she savored the last bite, because there’s no calories in quarantine, she told herself. “Normally I’d go with Honey, but she’s got enough on her plate. Bull Thompson is robbing her! He must be changing her orders, and she’s been so absorbed with Brian that she wasn’t keeping track. I know she can afford it, but she needs people around her she can trust. So I set a trap for him, saying that I’ d leave some jewelry in Honey’s car.”

“Right,” said Jim as he put the car in gear. “She would have paid for his groceries herself if she knew he needed help.”

“She pays him for twenty hours a week whether he works or not, but he takes every holiday on the calendar, any calendar, and then he steals from her beyond that! Jim, we should have seen that she needed help.”

“They worked hard to make sure we didn’t know, but now that we do, we will.”

“Yes. I’m making a spreadsheet.”

“The dreaded spreadsheet!” He reached a hand over to fluff the few curls escaping from her hat.

They parked a block from the house and crunched through the snow in silence as twilight faded into night. A house two doors away gleamed with thousands of Christmas lights, lighting their path. The Belden house stood shrouded in darkness

Trixie had no trouble picking the lock on the garage side door. She deposited a package, a fancy jeweler’s box, on the front seat of Honey’s car, a practical blue Honda CRV. Then she set up a night vision camera to cover the entire garage. The car was unlocked; Trixie locked all doors except the driver’s side and settled beside Jim admidst all the paraphernalia the Beldens left behind when they moved to Lynch House.

“Is that real jewelry?” asked Jim in that almost silent voice that all parents develop. 

“No,” she replied. “It’s bangles from Diana’s sisters. When I told them what we were doing, and they wanted to help. I remember being their age, and nobody would ever let me do anything.”

“And so you did it anyway,” said Jim.

“Yes! And I don’t want them to.” 

“Hmm. Why do we need to be here if you have the camera?”

“I just have a feeling. I want to catch him in the act if we can. If we don’t catch him tonight, I’ll let the camera do it another night. Jim Frayne, is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just glad—it is a pistol! Why, Jim? I have Dan on speed dial, and I have a taser.” Trixie thrust him away.

“Because we’re waiting in the dark for a criminal, and even if Dan’s in the neighborhood—“

“He is.”

“—he’s not faster than a speeding bullet.”

Trixie sighed and shifted her position under the camping equipment so that she wasn’t pressed against the gun. She got comfortable for a possible long wait. Jim did too; having grown up hunting, he knew how to be still and patient.

The only light in the garage was a thin gray line under the side door. Bundled in warm clothes with hand warmers in her gloves and shoes, Trixie’s eyes drooped. But the click of the garage side door sent all of her senses tingling. She pressed a button on her phone.

She could hear more than she could see. The footsteps were quiet as they moved around the car, stopping at each door. Trixie kept her breath light, steady, and soundless. She noticed Jim did too. She couldn’t identify the dark form that passed only feet in front of her. Though bundled against the cold with something dark over his face, he looked smaller than Bull.

He couldn’t avoid making a slight noise as he opened driver’s door. The car’s overhead light came on. She hadn’t seen him in over ten years, and he looked twenty years older, but she recognized Bull’s uncle, Snipe Thompson, still unshaven, still vicious. He picked up the jewelry box from the seat and tucked it in his coat. He went rigid as someone outside not used to whispering said, “Now.”

Recognizing the voice, Trixie shut her eyes in pain. The garage door and side door clunked, as though someone leaned on them hard. Snipe dashed for the side door and threw himself against it like a cannonball. It opened a crack but slammed shut again. 

“Terry, help me!” Bobby Belden called, urgent but quiet.

Snipe threw himself at the door again, but it held this time. Trixie reached for her taser, and she could feel Jim going for his gun.

Suddenly the garage lights flashed on. Trixie squinted. Snipe threw his hands over his face as he pressed against the door.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” yelled Honey from the steps into the house. Wearing a high-necked, rose-flocked flannel nightgown trimmed in crocheted lace, she held the rifle perfectly still, her expression resolute, giving no doubt that she would do as she said, despite her frilly gown and fluffy bunny slippers.

The side door flew open inwards, knocking Snipe over. Officer Dan Mangan stepped in, also aiming his pistol at Snipe. “Honey, I’ll take it from here.”

“Honey can shoot?” asked Bobby, still in the yard.

“I’m Jim’s sister and Trixie’s partner,” snapped Honey. “Of course I can shoot.”

“I told you boys to leave,” said Dan. “Sorry to be late. Someone put spikes on the road. I saw them in time and parked the car a block away rather than investigate.

Trixie could just make out the Lynch boy twins behind Bobby’s outline. All three looked impassive, a sure sign of guilt.

A car roared down the street. The driver wasn’t as observant as Dan. Everyone flinched as tires popped like shotguns. A loud crash followed, and then crumpling metal and running footsteps.

Honey sighed as she lowered her rifle. “Someone ran into the Jenkins’ tree. They’ll just hang another string of lights on it.

Snipe’s face turned redder and meaner as the footsteps faded away.

“We’ll worry about your getaway driver later,” said Dan as he fastened flex cuffs on his prisoner. “Bobby, I said to get back! More than six feet! There’s enough people here that I should write you a citation.”

“Why does everybody get to help but us?” came the mutter from further away in the yard.

From inside the house came a thread of a voice. “Honey, is everything all right?”

Honey called over her shoulder. “It’s okay, Brian. I thought I heard raccoons in the trash cans again.”

Bobby pressed in again and scowled. “Yeah, but this is that guy who dumped me in the snow when I was six and stole my sled and Trixie’s antique lap desk.” 

His friends held his arms. Larry (or maybe Terry) said, “Six feet back, Bobby.”

“And he went to prison for that,” Jim said in his best teenager-soothing voice as he got to his feet.

“What’s he doing out then?” demanded Bobby. “Toss me a tent pole, Trixie. I’ll show him six feet back. I was sick with pneumonia for weeks and scared to death of the woods for months. I’d like to—”

“Sure you would, Bobby,” said Dan as he pulled Snipe to his feet, difficult because Snipe pulled as far away as he could from Bobby’s angry fists, clenching over and over. Bobby now towered over everyone except Jim. Dan continued as he patted Snipe’s pockets,“But the worst thing a criminal can do to you is make you just like him. So we have police and courts instead of taking our own revenge. This will be Snipe’s third time in court, so he’ll be going away for a long, long time.”

“Just got out last month,” Snipe mumbled, glaring at Dan.

“I’ll help you carry him to your car, if you’ll cuff his legs,” said Jim as he pulled his mask up. “Bobby, come see me tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” said Trixie. “I didn’t know you felt that way. Our parents sent me to therapy after a few of my adventures, and they should have sent you too, but you always seemed so happy.”

“Yeah.” Bobby said, still sullen. “Happy little Bobby, no worries at all.”

“Jim, I’m going to temporarily deputize you to go get my car—after the junior raccoons get the street clear,” said Dan as he tossed his keys to Jim.

The garage cleared quickly, and soon Dan and his prisoner were gone, leaving the Fraynes and Honey, her gun now pointed at the ground.

“Trixie, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about your stakeout,” said Honey, her voice vibrating low.

“You didn’t tell her?” demanded Jim. “I didn’t ask because I was sure you would. What were you thinking, Trixie?” 

Trixie’s cheeks burned. She felt like she was thirteen again. “I’m sorry, Honey. I was trying to spare you the worry, when you’ve had so much.”

Honey’s tearful, wounded expression made her look like a little girl again. “Instead I wonder what the heck you’re up to, when I call my mother and she says she never gave you any jewelry, though it would be just like her, not that I’ll care about stupid things like jewelry ever again, as if I ever did. I did figure out that you painted a ginormous target on me for Bull and any thief he knew.”

Trixie tried to wade through the Honey-speak, but Jim just said, “We’re sorry, sis. Let’s go, Trixie.”

Trixie wanted to stay and make Honey see, but she admitted to herself that Jim was right, the best thing they could do—she could do—was to leave Honey alone. She followed him, disconsolate, to their car.

#

Trixie wrestled through the night and into the next morning with how she could make things right with Honey. She saw that she’d made things worse by giving Honey another stressful evening. But before Trixie came to a decision, Honey called. “If you meant it about doing things for me, would you go to Crimpers and pick up my order? Dan was going to, but he’s tied up right now, and I have to have it by 11:00.”

Reflecting that it was more likely that Dan’s clientele were tied up, Trixie said, while mentally cancelling her morning’s plans, “Of course I meant it. The kids are still with Moms; I’ll just let her know I’ll be later.”

Calling Moms gave everyone in Lynch House over the age of five the chance to ask Trixie to pick up something in town. She promised, but said Honey’s errand came first. “Sometimes I miss those teenage days of just skipping out of chores and math homework before setting off on another adventure,” she muttered as she headed for her car. 

She was surprised at the Crimpers order: bags full of wrapped Christmas presents and a three-foot decorated fake tree that wouldn’t fit in anything but a construction-sized garbage bag. Remembering that Dan was involved, she decided that Dan must have found a family that needed Christmas help and asked Honey to fund it. That would be just like both of them. Maybe Honey comforted herself for what was sure to be a dismal Christmas for just her and Brian by giving someone else a happy holiday.

She parked in the driveway and went around back to tap on the sliding door. When Honey, eyes weary and face puffy, came over in a fluffy mint green robe, Trixie jumped in first, “Honey, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was using for brains, but I was convinced that I was saving you worry and effort. I wasn’t, and I won’t do it again.” She pulled out a folded paper from her voluminous coat pocket, unfolded it, and pressed it against the glass so that Honey could read it. “This is the family-school schedule for helping the Brian Belden family. If you need anything, you call the person listed or their backup. Dan is second backup for everybody, because his schedule is too crazy to commit to a certain day. Where there’s two names, one is a teenager with a learner’s permit who didn’t want to be left out. We’ve got a two-week rotation. And because the youngest ones thought we were unreasonably prejudiced towards drivers, the last row shows who will be fixing a meal for you that day. I’m encouraging Jim’s students to make things you can freeze, if you don’t want to eat them that day. That probably won’t work with the Baby Bob-Whites, but they wanted so badly to cook for you. They’re moving up to Campbell Soup recipes: someone will bring over a tuna-veggie-cream of chicken soup casserole later today. Win and Mallie were dropping potato sticks on top when I called this morning.”

Her voice thick, Honey smiled and said, “We’ll happily eat whatever they cook for us. This is so kind of everyone. We didn’t want you to worry to see Brian so sick—it upset you so last time, and he really is much better—or get to close when he might be contagious.”

“Not worry about our friends and family? Of course we worried. We love you both, Honey. Being apart from you for ten months has been the worst thing.”

“We’re both getting tested again tomorrow. Maybe—“ she shook her head. “No, I’m not going to talk about it. I can’t bear to hope.”

Trixie noticed odd sounds coming from inside the house. “Is something broken? Plumbing problems?”

“That’s Brian’s singing practice,” said Honey in a flat voice.

“Oh. Well, he sounds, um, louder,” said Trixie. “And that’s good, right?”

“Very therapeutic,” answered Honey with no enthusiasm.

“Hallo,” called Dan as he rounded the back corner of the house. “Speedy Delivery here. Trixie, you want to pop your car open so I unload the stuff?”

“Oh,” said Honey. “I’d better get dressed.” She disappeared from view.

Trixie held up her phone in his direction. “Right after I get a photo of Officer Dan in his Ten Acres School mask. Something tells me that the Sleepyside Quilt Guild did not make you a Captain America mask. Captain Molinson lets you wear it?”

“And the Superman mask and the Black Panther mask I wore last night. At first he decreed that we had to wear solid neutral colors, but the Quilt Guild and the school mask makers soon set him straight. They sent us holiday masks this week, and the captain is sporting one covered with candy canes and puppies. I’ll get the other masks out of my car so you can take a photo of them too. Everyone needs to know their work is appreciated.”

Trixie followed him at a distance to the front yard. She clicked her key to open the car and called instructions for what to take. Then she shoved her schedule through the mail slot in the front door. Before driving off, Dan posed in his other masks. She snapped photos and sent them to Jim.

She went back to see if Honey had any other assignments for her, and Honey, pacing the length of the glass doors, stopped to say, “Would you stay a few minutes? I’d just like to have you here. And put this envelope in that concrete flower urn on the edge of the porch.”

“Well, sure,” said Trixie, mystified.

She talked about anything but Christmas, which was a short list, but she didn’t have long to wait. Bull Thompson trudged into view, looking tired. Trixie stepped back so he could talk to Honey, and said, yet again, “Mask up.”

“Bull, I’m sorry to interrupt your Solstice holiday,” said Honey in a stiff voice. 

“You said you wanted to pay me early,” said Bull as he grabbed the envelope and shoved it in his coat. “For the holidays.”

Honey said, “Yes. This is your severance pay, covering until January 15. You needn’t come back.”

“But Mrs. Belden, I have a wife and child to support, and now my Uncle Snipe too, and I had to walk here because my car’s wrecked—”

“Yes, the car that’s smashed into the Jenkins’ tree, right? Actually, the VIN number says it belongs to your Uncle Snipe. I suppose he let you drive it while he was in prison. You won’t have to worry about supporting him any more, now that he’s arrested again—for stealing from me, as you very well know. I hope you weren’t hurt in the wreck last night, but I won’t have people around me whom I can’t trust.”

Bull kept trying to interrupt her, but Trixie knew there was no getting a word in anywhere when Honey was wound up, as she certainly was, her face a brighter pink than her sweater. 

When she stopped for a few fast breaths, Bull insisted, “I never did anything. I wouldn’t steal from you.”

“No, you’d just wait in the car while your uncle did, besides adding to my grocery orders, figuring I was too distraught to look at the receipts.”

“Not that you couldn’t spare it,” muttered Bull. 

Honey snapped, “I never want to see you on any property where I am, but I spoke to your wife this morning after you left, and I’ve arranged for a social worker to help her get your family’s needs met. And because benefits can take some time to start, I ordered enough fuel oil to heat your house for the winter, I paid ahead on your other utilities, I paid your landlord for the winter, and I’m having your uncle’s car towed and repaired. I also ordered Christmas decorations and presents for your family, since your wife told me you celebrate that too. Officer Mangan is on his way to deliver them. I’m sure your wife will let him in to set things up.”

Bull jumped. “He can’t do that! I mean, he doesn’t have to. I mean, I have to call my wife!” He kicked up flurries as he ran through the snow, wrestling to free his phone from his coat pocket. 

As Trixie approached Honey, she heard Bull shouting into his phone from the street. She could still hear his heavy steps.

Honey looked ready to cry. “Was I generous enough, Trixie? I don’t want his wife and baby to suffer.”

“Honey!” The name exploded from Trixie. “Nobody else in the world would have done half as much. Not even Jim.”

Honey wrung her hands. “Like he said, it’s not like I can’t afford it. I know it’s hard to start over, once you’ve been in reform school or jail. All Snipe got was teenage bangles from the mall, but I just…”

“You have to trust the people around you. Besides, what about his other victims, whoever they are? Can they afford it?”

Honey sighed. “I wasn’t the only one, was I? The way he took off when he found out Dan was going to be in his house!”

“Very clever of you. Dan won’t need a warrant to search, and he’s certain find something.” Trixie smiled and wished she could hug her best friend. She put her gloved hand against the window. 

After Honey wiped her eyes, she put her hand over Trixie’s. “I don’t think his wife will mind much when he’s gone.”

“I hope not. I hope she’s not involved,” said Trixie.

Honey shook her head. “Things were never this complicated when we were first solving mysteries, were they?”

“Someone else always picked up the pieces for us,” agreed Trixie. As Honey’s eyes filled with tears again, Trixie said, “You don’t have to pick up all the pieces today. You—and Brian, I hope—can take a few hours off for Christmas cheer this week. We are doing the Christmas village at the school, adjusted for the times. I brought you tickets for a few days later, so Brian has time to get stronger. Leave the house at dusk so you can get there come early. Stop at the gate and call me when you arrive. I’ll make sure everything’s safe for everybody.”

“I just don’t feel like it.” Honey looked over her shoulder and whispered to Trixie,”Darn Christmas anyway.”

“That’s exactly why you should come, because you don’t want to. Please, Honey. It’s important to reach for whatever normal we can. You and Brian need a vacation—an hour in our winter wonderland is as close as we can get these days.”

“And you’re going to badger me until I do.”

“Yep.”

Honey mouthed a word she wouldn’t dream of saying out loud.

#

A few days later Trixie was once again wrestling with her children and the kitchen when her mother walked in, leading her other grandchildren.

“Moms!” Trixie put down her burdens from the refrigerator and ran to hug her mother. “Thanks for bringing the cousins. I’ll bring them back in the morning.”

Helen Belden eyed the Baby Bob-Whites with amusement. Julie-Kat and Win danced around the three visiting cousins and dragged them to the children’s work table while explaining at the top of their lungs. “If you wouldn’t be offended, I thought I’d stay a while, if only to admire your organizational skills. I don’t think I would have given a cookie-making party for five small children, five and under.”

Trixie hugged her mother tighter and whispered, “Oh, Moms, thank you. I thought the students could help, but they’re all at the school kitchen making treats for their own cabins. And this crew is wilder than even a bunch of troubled teens.” She sighed. “I wanted to give all of you an afternoon off, especially Di, as pregnant as she is with her twins, and here I’m the one who needs help.”

Helen laughed. “They aren’t accustomed to school yet, despite Miss Trask’s excellent work. It takes time to learn to do things together.”

Trixie shuddered. “I made several rolls of icebox dough, and the children just have to slice them—with table knives!—and decorate them with the sprinkles and such I’ve got laid out. Everybody’s got their own little pan to put their cookies in. But Win’s throwing the sprinkles, and Julie-Kat’s smushing all the dough together.”

Helen tried not to laugh. “What if they eat all their cookies before tonight’s Winter Wonderland tour?”

“That’s where I—and now you—come in. We’ll make cookies too, to have some for tonight. And with any luck, nobody will be hungry for anything more than hot dogs for supper. They’ll jump around all evening like popcorn in a microwave until they fall over, but that’s okay.”

“You are very organized. Still, you might need an extra pair of hands. I’ll have Julie-Kat explain the decorating table to me.”

Julie-Kat was close to inciting a riot, the way she was commanding her cousins, but explaining to Grandmoms took the pressure off her victims while still instructing them.

Grandmoms even talked them into eating just one cookie from each tray they baked, so they would have more to eat later. They were indeed satisfied with a dinner of hot dog pieces in macaroni, and so were Jim and Bobby, who came in just before dusk. Bobby now spent most of his days at the school, supposedly helping Jim.

When all the Lynch twins arrived shortly afterwards, Trixie assigned each teenager to a small child.

“Just stay with them, whatever they want to do this evening. I know they won’t stand on the porch for three hours and sing carols—and they shouldn’t, as cold as it is. So don’t let them run outside, and come in with them for cookies and cider and games, if they get too bored. I’ll put Win to bed around 8:00, unless he gets sleepy before then.”

As they cleaned up after dinner, Trixie asked her mother, “Do you want to stay for the evening? It’s different from the usual holiday wonderland.” She cast a sad look out the window, where lights were winking on throughout the campus. “I miss the village so much, where you could walk through a maze of lights and sparkles, but the students have put a lot into converting it to a drive-through event, and of course, the newer students never knew anything else.”

“We’ve got to remember that,” agreed Helen. “Our memories are long, but not theirs. And we’ve been telling them that Christmas is about love, peace, and good will, so it’s time we proved it to them, don’t you think? And I’d love to stay.”

“That’s great, Moms. Every cabin is going to stand on their porch (with space heaters, of course) and sing Christmas carols, hopefully together, that will be amplified through the whole school. With the teens chasing the Baby-Bobs inside and out, we could use more adult voices to beef up the sound on our porch.”

“It sounds lovely,” said Helen, “even though we’re looking at the back of the village.”

Trixie’s phone rang. She dried one hand and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Hi, Honey! I’m glad you’re here. Oh, really? Yeah, I’m kind of glad too.” She held the phone to her chest and whispered to Mom, “Remember Bull Thompson?”

Helen’s face tightened, and her eyes blazed. “I certainly do. I hope he’s being punished.”

“Actually, Honey says his Uncle Snipe took the blame for everything, said Bull and his wife didn’t know anything about his thefts. So Bull gets to spend his baby’s first Christmas at home.”

While Moms struggled with her feelings, Trixie said, “Honey, just pull into our driveway, out of the main road, and we’ll come talk to you.”

Miraculously, silence fell while she was talking. Then the children erupted in screams. “Mommy! Daddy! Uncle Brian! Aunt Honey!” 

They all ran towards the car flashing its lights at the entrance. The twins exchanged looks and took off after their charges. Jim dashed out too, calling warnings they ignored.

Trixie, with her phone in one hand and Win in her other arm, was caught by surprise but glad for Jim’s quick reflexes. 

Bobby, in charge of Win, asked, “Should I take him out to the car, or stay here with him?”

Trixie felt the weight on her arm lifted and turned to see Moms picking up Win.

“Go,” said Moms with a smile. “Both of you.”

“I love you!” After a quick spasm of a hug, Trixie took off after the crowd now gathered around the driver’s side window. 

Bobby, a track star in the Before Times, beat her there. “Brian!” he shouted. “Brian!”

As the shortest adult, Trixie had to peek around and stand on her toes to see what Bobby saw: Brian in the driver’s seat. She gasped and joined the cry of “Brian!” He must be feeling so much better, she thought as her vision blurred with tears. She pulled out her phone. “You have to come see, Moms. Brian’s here. He’s so much better. Bring Win. I’ll go back with him.”

“I will,” said Bobby. “It’s my job.”

Trixie hugged him as Brian’s voice crackled over Jim’s phone, set to speaker. Trixie couldn’t hear what he said over his children screaming, “Daddy, Daddy, roll down the window! Let us in the car!”

Honey’s stronger voice cut over theirs. “The cold’s not good for Daddy, so we can’t roll down the windows tonight. But we have a big surprise for you.”

Helen Belden joined them with Win wrapped up in all the blankets she could grab on her way out of the house. She handed Mallie a small package.

“Daddy! Mommy! I baked cookies for you! Andy too,” she admitted, with a glance at her brother. She waved the package over her head. 

“Get someone to help you bring them to my side of the car and push them through the window,” Honey said. 

One of the Lynch girls obliged.

“But the surprise?” Trixie leaned forward to demand.

Honey and Brian exchanged glances. Jim whispered to Trixie, “They called today. You’ve been busy, but you can still object if you want.”

“Object to what?” demanded Trixie in a whisper.

Honey said, her voice trembling, “Daddy and Mommy took more tests to see if we’re well. And all three tests say we are, so we can spend Christmas with you.”

Amid the cheering, Jim said Trixie, “They asked all the adults to vote on it. If you want to object, you better do so quickly.”

“And be torn apart by this mob?” asked Trixie. “If Dr. Brian and Ever-So-Cautious Jim think it’s safe, I’m sure it is.”

Brian croaked, “So we’ll see you in this many days.” He held up two fingers. He and Honey exchanged looks and started to sing “White Christmas.” “I’ll be home for—“ Only Honey could hold the long notes, but Brian was as near tuneful as Trixie had ever heard him. 

Helen hugged Win close and buried her face in his blankets. “I talked to him earlier today, so I didn’t think seeing him would be so—Oh, my baby!”

Trixie knew Moms wasn’t talking about Win. Her eyes grew wet, and she felt like she had icicles on her cheeks. She hugged Jim as her brother and best friend finished their modified song: “I’ll be home for Christmas, and not just in my dreams.”


End file.
